Two Little Mice
by Mortal Instrument
Summary: Just a few random drabbles with Frank and Carl. No slash. Kinda random and kinda cute. ONE-SHOT's only...may be continuing (if you care)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: well, sorry to disappoint you all, but I (obviously) don't own **_**Catch Me if You Can**_**.**

Frank calls. He really has no one else to talk to and Carl can't help feeling the tiniest bit sorry for the kid. The first few times he calls, Carl laughs, and it eases his own pain. After awhile, it becomes more of the fact that Carl is the only one Frank has. Frank starts to treat him like a father, and Carl starts to treat the kid as a son. They always talk on Christmas now; it's become a tradition, the cop and the robber talking together.

"Hey Carl." It's always the same conversation, except tonight's Christmas Eve and Carl has been sitting at his desk eating Chinese food waiting for the call he knows will come.

"Hey Frank. Merry Christmas."

"Yeah, Merry Christmas. Do you have any kids Carl?"

Carl is prepared for any question. Except that one.

"Yeah. Uh, a daughter. Grace."

"How old was she when you got divorced?"

"Fourteen" Carl replies, realizing with a pang that she was only two years younger than Frank when _his_ parents divorced.

"Can you do me a favor?" the tone of the kid's voice is soft and almost pleading.

"What, Frank?" Carl asks.

"Call her. Please. You still have time. She still loves you," replies Frank, struggling to keep the emotion out of his voice.

Carl hesitates, pausing awkwardly, "sure, Frank. I will. Did-did you ever hate your parents when they split?"

There's a long pause at the other end and Carl thinks maybe the line's gone dead or the kid's hung up, when "no. I-I really can't hate them. They're my parents."

Carl sighs, unsure of what to say.

"Well, you know what would happen if I go back now" Frank fills in, his voice dulled with sadness. Carl realizes that Frank isn't a cold con man who doesn't give a shit; he's just a scared, lonely kid.

"Yeah. I guess I do. You have any kids?" Carl asks, fishing around for any sort of clue.

He is surprised to hear Frank's dry chuckle over the line, "now I know what you want."

Carl can't help but smirk, knowing the kid's too smart to be caught by a trick like that.

"No. If you really want to know the answer, it's no."

The firmness in Frank's voice surprises Carl, he knows the kid wanted to settle down and was planning to get married.

Before he can stop it, he asks "why not?"

"They're too much of a commitment. I'd be tied down, and then, well, you know what'd happen" Frank laughs.

"Frank, do you ever get lonely?" Carl knows it's a stupid question, but he can't help asking it.

"What do you think?" Frank asks quietly, and so softly Carl almost doesn't catch it.

Carl sighs, "in all honesty Frank, I just don't know."

There's a soft click at the other end of the phone and he knows Frank isn't there anymore, but he still whispers "Merry Christmas, kid."

**~.~**

Two years later, watching Frank collapse inside the tiny French prison cell, Carl feels all the paternal instincts he's tried to keep bottle up. And then standing over Frank in the infirmary wing of the Perpignan prison and watching him toss and turn deliriously, thrashing in the blankets, Carl realizes he knew the answer all along. He slowly sits down in the chair next to Frank's bed and presses a cautious hand to Frank's burning forehead, hoping Frank won't wake up at the slight touch. Though Frank was still thrashing, trapped in a feverish delirium, he turned into Carl's touch and Carl distinctly heard him murmur, "Carl…Carl…please. Call…"

**A/N: (also reposting this) I wanted to do a Catch Me if You Can fic with no slash! Anyway please review if you feel so inclined…would be amazing and awesome and sweet and generous…thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own anything…**

Carl Hanratty glanced over at the sleeping kid slouched in the coach airplane seat. Yeah, even he had to admit that Frank Abagnale Jr. looked young and innocent when he slept. The kid honestly did not look like someone who could or even did steal more than one million dollars in checks.

The kid stirred and started to wake as the plane circled New York City.

"Morning, kid" Carl said quietly.

"What time is it?" Frank groaned softly.

"Morning. How're you feeling?"

"Fine, I guess" Frank replied, "Carl when do I get to call my dad?"

This question hit Hanratty and he almost felt sick. Slowly he unclipped his seat belt and shifted over, trying to avoid looking at Frank.

"Frank, your father's dead. He fell down some steps at Grand Central Terminal trying to catch a train and he broke his neck. I'm sorry Frank, I didn't want to be the one to tell you" Carl finally met Frank's pain-filled eyes.

"Why? Why'd you lie to me?" Frank demanded angrily, attracting the attention of Fox and Amdursky, who were sitting across the aisle.

"Carl, I think I'm gonna be sick."

Carl followed the kid, only to have the bathroom door violently slammed in his face. He stood outside patiently waiting, while the kid sobbed.

He knew it was stupid to lie to a conman.

Hours later, driving to Frank's mother's house, Carl sickeningly remembered how vulnerable and young Frank had looked. He was reminded of another time, not so long ago, when Frank had looked that vulnerable.

_Carl slowly sank into the rickety chair in the Perpignan prison infirmary. He was honestly surprised this prison even had an infirmary. Looking around, it was obvious it hadn't been used in awhile. It had also taken awhile to convince the guards that a certain conman actually needed medical attention._

_That certain conman was now tossing and turning feverishly on the narrow infirmary cot, tangling the thin blanket around his thrashing body. Carl winced inwardly at the condition of the kid. He knew French prisons were brutal, but this was just…_

_It must have been sometime around midnight when Frank finally woke up, somewhat lucid._

"_Carl?" he mumbled, as his eyes flickered open._

"_Yeah, kid?" Carl felt an unusual tightness in his throat as he realized that the first person Frank had asked for was him._

_Frank turned towards Carl " 'm cold," he whimpered. His eyes were shiny with fever, and he struggled to pull the thin blanket higher up against his shoulder._

_Carl sighed. He had already tried asking the guards for another blanket, but of course they had refused. He pulled off his coat and draped it over Frank. Frank smiled weakly and pulled the coat up to his shoulders._

"_Thanks" he whispered. Carl swallowed hard, he knew Frank was so sick that he wouldn't remember this brief moment. For a second Carl almost wished he would._

"_Just get some sleep," Carl said, trying (and failing) to be indifferent. As much as he tried to pretend he didn't care, he really did care about Frank. _

"_Don't go" Frank whispered exhaustedly, desperately trying to keep his eyes open._

"_I'm not going anywhere kid" Carl reassured, but Frank was already asleep. _

The Christmas after Frank was released from prison, Carl found a carefully folded and worn coat on his desk and a handwritten note tucked into a pocket.

_Dear Carl,_

_Thanks so much. Too bad they threw it out._

_Frank_


End file.
